#btw the left bottom corner is a joke

[inky-evergreen]

Best boi

[thatonecrookedsmile]

Okay guys, there's still a little more than 50 minutes left before the day ends here for me, so I'm going to give up on the whole joke now and admit it. The drawing from a few hours ago before? It was a joke. April Fools! Who would have thought.

HERE is the actual drawing I've been planning for the last few days. Beware, however. This drawing…is not for the faint of heart. (it has Wilson, after all)

Here it is. It took a long time, but it was worth it in the end. I hope you like and appreciate it. I would consider this my best work yet. 🙏

[h2llish]

⁀➷ ˖ tough love

notes ─── we love rollo <3 so this is my contribution to @cloudcountry 's event!

ROLLO FLAMME ─── if you don't care, you're not sure anyone will.

warnings ☆ fluff, some comfort, can be read platonic or romantic, gender neutral, reader is not yuu, playful teasing, lowercase intended, takes place after the event btw

the sky had become dashed with yellows and pinks as the sun began to set, and many of your peers began to retire from the rush of class. you would've liked to join them, but like clockwork, your routine left you climbing the belltower as the time on your watch struck six, with your books abandoned at the bottom for you to come back to. (if anyone stumbled across your belongings, they knew to leave it be, far too used to the routine of you and their president.)

you believe you had come to recognize every miniscule difference in the planks with how often you'd climb them, navigating the corners like your body had memorized every turn. and perhaps it has, since you've been climbing the belltower for more than a year every day to meet him at the top.

"there they are!"

you smiled and tilted your head respectfully as you reached the top of the tower, greeting the gargoyles that lived with the bell. they'd come to recognize your face, knowing you by name, and always waiting for you to reach the top at the same time, every day. ─ you'd only ever been late once, when you hadn't been aware of the quicker passage to the top. but since then, you'd always be there, even when you fell ill with a cold, or found it difficult to walk after a bad bout of food poisoning (specific, perhaps, but it did happen, and yet you still came at the exact time in which you promised you would. even if that did lead you to receiving a long scolding).

one of the gargoyles, who had always been more talkative, and seemed much older compared to the rest, waited to gesture over to the bell, where you could just barely see someone sitting on the other side. "we're especially quiet today."

"is that so." you sighed, gripping the bag on your shoulder with a lazy shrug, nodding at the gargoyle in your thanks.

rollo hardly batted an eye when you took up spot beside him, setting the bag down safely, and leaning back on your hands with an exaggerated sigh. "you know, having to climb all these stairs every day, gets exhausting." you said ─ a jab, you always made sure to poke at him. it was a test, something you've done since you were kids. you'd learned that his reactions to your jokes always told you how he was feeling, how open he was to talk to you.

"then stop climbing every day." he replied, rolling his eyes but not giving you the satisfaction of a glance your way.

you gasped, as dramatic as he'd known you to be, "but this is my time where i have you all to myself! i'm offended you'd say such a thing!"

"you're ridiculous."

"says the guy who is brooding all alone here in a tower." you snickered, and he finally looked at you, sending you a glare. but you hardly felt any anger behind it; at least not at you. ─ the anger you were used to seeing since the incident was always directed elsewhere, stewing, grieving.

"i'm not brooding." he scowled, and you raised your eyebrows, as if challenging that claim.

"sure you're not." you clicked your tongue and grinned.

he was talkative today, expressive ─ a rare occurrence with him. you'd consider it your lucky day if you didn't know he's only ever like this when his guard is down because he's simply too tired to keep it up. he's known you since you were small, you'd been there since the start of it all, and yet he still found it so difficult to relax. ─ you knew why, and you grieved for him when he could not.

he went silent, a scoff his final jab at your teasing, turning his head back out to the city that the bell overlooked, watching over it like a knight to its queen. the same city you can still vividly remember being covered in flickering flowers that drained you of the magic you built up if only to be at his side when he got into the college. ─ you remember being in the dorms, attending to any students who might need your help. and you remember when they started to fall unconscious. you remember looking outside as the flowers spread, until you too, went dark, only to wake sometime later with the mission of finding rollo to make sure he was okay. (he was, and you think you know why.)

"are you hungry?" you asked, crossing your legs and leaning forward.

"no."

"liar." you quickly rebutted, turning your head to him with narrowed eyes, "you didn't eat lunch."

"and how do you know that?"

"i know everything, my dear rollo." ─ you always made sure he was taking care of himself, always there to support even when he remained oblivious to it. you remember making that promise to yourself as a kid, to look out for him when no one else would, when he didn't know how to grieve, and he scowled and cursed at every mage that crossed your sight.

you grabbed the bag at your side and reached into it, pulling out sandwiches and bottles of water, "i brought you something to eat." you held it out to him with a look that told him he had to take it. he did, and he didn't need to say thank you because you knew that when tomorrow comes, he'll have your favorite pastry waiting for you, like he always did when you make sure to care of him where he lacked. "i would've cooked for you, but alas, i simply had no time."

"thank the stars." he sassed, and you would've gasped in surprise if you hadn't been expecting. ─ he really was so talkative today, lucky you.

"we are still sitting at the top of the tower."

"your threats have no effect on me." he scoffed, before taking a bite of the unwrapped sandwich.

you snorted and glared at him with faux annoyance, "see if i ever come back here."

a side glance as he chewed, before he jabbed back, "what happened to having me all to yourself?"

"i can manage."

"you're much too terrible at lying."

he's right, but you think that applies only when it came to your care for him.

and you know it will be the same tomorrow. ─ just as your watch strikes six, when the sky is painted with yellows and pinks as the sun begins to set, and many of your peers begin to retire from the rush of class. and although you would like to join them, you'd still find yourself at the belltower, like clockwork, with your books waiting for you to return to them, and a bag on your shoulder with sandwiches inside because you'd know he'd probably forget to eat lunch. and you'd find something else to jab at him about, to see how he's feeling, and know what he needs you to be.

because you made a promise to care for him, because you're not sure anyone else will.

do not repost, translate, copy, or run my writing through an ai

[wileys-russo]

Alessia playing a rough match & insisting she’s fine (despite being on the ground more than not).

“I know every inch of your body Alessia and I know for a fact that bruise is new”

+proceeding to take care of her and kiss all her better

I love your writing btw

bruises II a.russo

"they're really going in on her today." you mumbled to your soon to be brother in law, bouncing your knee anxiously as not even twenty minutes into the game and your fiance had already been the collateral damage of three fouls and a yellow card.

"she's a big girl and it's a contact sport, she'll be fine." gio waved off your worries, patting your back without looking away from the pitch as you sighed.

"she'll be alright darling, she's done this for years she knows what to do." carol murmured much more empathetically, squeezing your knee and sending you a reassuring look as you nodded.

however by half time your worries had only doubled ten fold, your fiance seemingly spending more time on the ground than on her own two feet.

alessia had always been clumsy by nature and normally her consistent stumbles and slips had you smiling with amusement but now every time her body hit the ground your breath caught in your throat.

"go on. ease the nerves a bit!" gio nudged past you and dropped back into his seat, handing you a drink as you forced a smile and took a sip. normally you'd not drink at your fiances games but today you'd do anything to try and fight the anxiety which clawed desperately at your throat.

"oh thats a joke, how is that not a card?" you protested, wincing as you watched alessia's body thud to the ground once again, her legs completely sweeped out from underneath her. "beats me. come on ref!" gio yelled, joining the horde of angry arsenal fans also shouting for at least a yellow.

"she's limping." your brought your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it nervously as your fiance waved off the medics, hobbling back to her position and resetting herself for a moment. rolling her shoulders and neck she bent back down, joining the huddle of her team mates as they bunched in for a corner.

"six more minutes of stoppage time love, she's going to be just fine." carol assured, you only nodding wordlessly as your gaze locked onto alessia, knee once again bouncing as you flinched every time she came near to the ball.

"again? they've got to be taking the piss." you scoffed as the same defender from before sweeped her legs out from beneath her, though this time your fiance wasn't quite so quick to her feet. you huffed as finally a card was rewarded, the spurs player headed off the pitch as it was her second yellow of the match.

"she's not getting up." you mumbled, jaw clenching as your knee bounced even faster, not even your future mother in laws hand squeezing it reassuringly helping with anything. your stomach dropped as you watched your fiance gesture frantically toward her knee, the pain clear on her face with every passing second.

"you don't think-" you started, not even finishing your sentence out of gut wrenching terror for the next few words which died in your mouth.

"no, we don't even think about that." gio remanded firmly though not unkindly as he draped an arm around your shoulders, a sigh of relief left you as finally alessia was up being helped off the pitch as stina was subbed on in her place.

"see? she knows how to take a knock and a push, she's nearly twice the size of that pesky defender anyway." gio chuckled, doing his best to reassure you as play resumed.

"the bigger they are the harder they fall." you sighed, much less optimistic as you caught leah's eye from the bench, the girl raising an eyebrow and nodding her head toward the tunnel.

"go darling." carol watched the blonde gesture for you to come to her, nudging you up as you hurried out of your seat and out of the stand, leah meeting you as you did.

"she's all good, just a bit sore." the older girl assured, pulling you into her side in a hug as she walked the two of you toward the medic room where alessia had been taken to.

you heard cheering as the final whistle blew, the gunners winning 4-1 but you couldn't share their excitement, your only focus now the blonde you were only seconds away from seeing.

"go kiss it better." leah winked, pinching your cheek playfully and giving you a gentle push into the med room.

the physio gave you a smile, also assuring there wasn't any major damage just a mild sprain but alessia would need to take it carefully and train separately for the week until it could be reassessed.

you thanked him grateful for the update as he left the room and shut the door afterward, giving you and your fiance some more privacy.

"hi beautiful." the blonde smiled affectionately, sat on the medical bench still in her kit as you moved to stand between her dangling legs. "ah! babe." she whined in surprise as you suddenly smacked her thigh with a loud slap and an unimpressed scowl.

"do not scare me like that again, pointing to your knee when its an ankle problem." you warned with a huff, frowning up at her as your fiance only smiled, infuriatingly attractive as she did so.

"i just knew it was something in my leg and your head mentally always goes to the worst possible scenario. i didn't mean to worry you baby i'm sorry." she apologized sincerely, your hands moving either side of her body as you leaned up to kiss her, another apology mumbled against your lips as her hands squeezed your sides.

~

"you're limping lessi. just let me help you!" you groaned frustratedly, your fiance refusing, batting away your arms which reached out to help her out of the car. "for the one millionth time i am fine!" she huffed, hauling herself up and swallowing her pain, walking as normally as she could to the front door.

"so fucking stubborn." you grumbled, slamming the door after her and shaking your head, your fiance letting herself into your shared home. "my love please at least sit down, put your ankle up on a pillow and rest it, please!" you begged with a sigh, the striker still standing with her head engrossed in her phone.

"honestly are you going to be this dramatic all week? because you are already getting on my last nerve its just a sprain i am absolutely fine!" alessia spat, rolling her eyes and limping off into the bedroom as you dragged your hands down your face with a silent groan of irritation before following after her.

"stop! i'll do it." you dropped down to your knees, helping her take off her trainers, extra careful with her injured ankle. alessia only groaned, flopping down onto her back on the bed making you roll your eyes.

"right i have had it with this denial and the stroppy attitude. hoodie off, joggers off." you stood back up and ordered firmly, crossing your arms sternly. "don't be cute, i'm serious." you warned as alessia smiled suggestively, though it dropped from her lips at your tone.

with a roll of her eyes she shuffled back up the bed, resting on her elbows as she tugged at her hoodie.

"i don't see why i have to-"

"stop." you moved to push away her hands, helping her to take her hoodie off and moving her training top up so it pooled at her neck, giving her a firm look as she opened her mouth to continue complaining.

without another word you ducked your head, placing a tender kiss to each and every bruise which littered her rib cage, your eyes locked with alessia's own as you did so.

you broke her stare as you moved backwards and dropped again to your knees, sliding her joggers off and giving the bruises adoring her legs the same loving treatment, your fiance tangling a hand in your hair, short nails affectionately scratching your scalp as she exhaled slowly.

tugging her top back down you carefully swung your leg over her hips, settling yourself on top of her as her hands instinctively moved to caress your thighs.

"alessia i know your body like the back of my hand. i've been head over heels in love with you for five years and your best friend for far longer than that. so there is not a single freckle, scar, birth mark, mole, nothing that i do not know like a map." you started, her hands coming to rest on your thighs.

"so these, all of these, are new." you frowned, shuffling down her body a little bit, gesturing to the freshly inflicted bruises scattering her body.

"so please don't tell me you're fine and everything is fine and nothing hurts. i know you better than that and i'd hope you know me better than that to think i'd believe anything otherwise." you finished softly, your hands moving to gently clasp her face, thumbs tracing the curvature of her jaw.

"i love you very very much less and i've always supported you in every single way i can, and i will always continue to do so. but please let me take care of you when you need it, even when you don't think you do." you requested, eyebrows knitted into a concerned frown.

"m'sorry baby, i love you very much and i didn't mean to be snappy or difficult." your fiance sighed apologetically as you shook your head.

"i've always known you were difficult love, i wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if i didn't know how to handle that." you smiled in amusement, shutting up her response with a kiss so filled with love it sent her head spinning.

"well then mrs russo i promise to always let you take care of me if you promise to always let me take care of you. i might be difficult but you are one of the most stubborn women i've ever met my pretty girl." your fiance grinned knowingly, squeezing your legs and leaning up slightly to place a gentle kiss to your nose.

holding out her pinky toward you expectantly making you laugh you linked your own with hers, the two of you kissing your interlocked fingers.

"i promise."

[me-and-your-husband]

How bout Ellie fiending over a thick reader, Girlie with a dump truck ? 👀

I think papa likes her fat bottomed girls yk ?

🕷️

you're so right oh my god now i'm really thinking about it. certified thick girl™️ here btw.

warnings: smut, thick reader (specifically ass and thighs 🤤), swearing, ellie is kinda feral

even before you got together, ellie would be staring at the way your thighs moved as you walked, ogling your ass as you bent over to pick something up. (most of the time) she wasn't even trying to objectify you, but she went batshit crazy in the summer when you'd parade around wearing ripped up denim shorts, giving her more to look at. dina or jesse probably caught her a few times too.

"you've gotta stop staring at her like that, ellie. there's literally a puddle of drool underneath you."

she'd just groan and pretend she wasn't stealing glances at your ass and thighs out of her peripherals.

and she'd always be finding excuses to even brush your ass or thighs. once, you came back from patrol with a cut on your inner thigh that needed stitches. she had to practically BEG joel to let her stitch you up.

"why?"

"i've got steadier hands than you."

she ended up sat between your thighs, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from your body, the flesh of your thighs doing that thing when you sit down where they just get twice as big out of nowhere. she couldn't even look at you, but her hands were fucking shaking because she was literally between your thighs right now oh my god

or she'd go to reach behind you, pretending to accidentally brush your ass with her hand.

she'd never do anything too weird though.

when you guys started dating tho? different story

her hands are ALWAYS on your ass. everyone headcanons her as a tits girl, but i disagree. she's literally sleeping facing you so she can wrap your legs around her and she can just hold your ass. that's literally it she does not give a fuck.

i feel like she wouldn't touch you too much in public, but when you're around your friends? girl is all over you. hand in your back pocket, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, keeping it warm. she loves to just squeeze the soft flesh of your ass or your thighs, pinching it, sucking it, literally anything.

she absolutely LOVES when you sit on her face, literally drowning in your slick, caged by your supple thighs and her hands literally squeezing your ass the entire time.

it's to the point where you barely wear pants around her place anymore cause she'll just end up ripping them off of you so you can sit on her lap and she can massage your thighs anyways

you once joked about getting "ellie" tattooed into the inside of your right thigh and "williams" tattooed on the left but it actually turned her on a little

she'd never admit it though.

it didn't matter if there were 80 empty chairs next to her, you were sitting on her lap, and that was just how it was

your ass is literally like a stress reliever for her. whenever she's anxious she'll just pull you into her lap and feel you up. she has no shame in it either.

and if you're in the kitchen making lunch or something she'll come up behind you, squeezing your thick hips and ass, so drunk on your curves that you're asking her what she wants on her sandwich and she just goes "this ass is so good."

she definitely sucks hickies into your asscheeks too when you're fucking. like the inside of your thighs and your ass will be LITTERED in purple bruises from her mouth. it would hurt to sit down for a couple of days but you didn't care.

and maybe on patrol you get ambushed by a group of guys. you manage to take out most of them but there's one left and he's got her in a chokehold, and you jump down from some random corner and literally take him out with your thighs around his neck. yeah she's gasping for air but she's DRAGGING you back to jackson and not letting you leave her bed for dayssss

ellie is definitely the type to get so fucking pussy drunk, she'd be eating you out and then she'd just start like nuzzling your ass and thighs with her cheek while her own slick is just POOLING underneath her

something inside of me tells me that she'd call you "mama" all the time, no matter the setting.

"c'mere, mama."

"that's a sweet ass, mama."

"fuck, mama. love these thighs."

need this in my life so bad

part 2

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy

@idkwhattonamethisblogs

tlou taglist:

@jordie-gvf

@sunxflowerxx

[wmarximoff]

tear you apart | w. maximoff

summary: sometimes when your morbid interests turn out to be too much to handle, you need Wanda to calm your spirits down.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, dark!Wanda, graphic depiction of dead body, somewhat graphic depiction of dismemberment, graphic depiction of blood, praise kink, strap-on sex, somnophilia, degradation, kinda dubcon, slight corruption/innocence kink, manipulation, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: btw this is my first time dealing with somnophilia so take it easy on me here ok!

|main masterlist| |spooktober masterlist| |series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Faced with the thick, damp, obscure darkness, you saw red. Warm crimson color vivid, flowing concentrated, or coagulated in extensive puddles located at specific points on the rough concrete floor of the low-ceilinged brick-walled basement permeated by a bochohornous climate, a stuffy, compact oxygen, difficult to breathe with the lungs.

You sighed, stagnant in a moment of deep latent esteem, like the artist who jokes about the final product of their masterpiece. Your will grew and sprouted and expanded. There was dark blood under your nails.

The metallic odor of hemoglobin and plasma rose higher and higher from the bowels of the earth like an invisible hand that entered your moist, half-open mouth, descending down your throat, consolidating itself into a single amalgamation of the aroma of lime and the compact smell of damp wood who took possession of the room lacking furniture, except for a small tin locker that could be pointed in one remote corner, or an even smaller scratched wooden table, smeared with heterogeneous streaks of brownish old blood, in another one.

Occasionally, gravity would trickle, from the ceiling straight down to near your left shoulder, particles of water from some probable plumbing that passed right over your head, over that scrawny, funneled yellow lamp that hung solitaryly from a dim and waning coloring that did not do much to brighten up the room that only seemed destined to be dark and excruciating.

Between the screwed-on fingers of both your hands pressed into fists (your knuckles covered in a grated layer of hot blood), your elbows dropped down from your hips like pendulums, stretching your forearms like the magnetism of a lodestone to the center of the earth as your palms pressed against the smooth wooden handle of a sharp-edged axe held just in front of your pelvic region, the metal plate of the tool's face soaked with red, fresh blood from a string of blows delivered voraciously against the hardness of the parietal bone of the human cranium.

Raising and lowering. Raising and lowering. Jets of blood sprayed up and to the sides, painting the walls red as hellfire. Moving your hips, your shoulders, your elbows; your knees bent, almost like a tennis match. Knead the skull. Guaranteed point.

You grunted like a predator tearing apart the carcass of your last prey when something bestial screeched primally in your degenerate core, returning to your untamed roots as you gave up your civilized goodwill to become something more, something beyond that; something beyond the experience of a human feel.

And the red, so clear and vivid and even sinisterly dangerous, was indeed alluring to your vision as it flowed in gulfs from a profuse cut on the back protrusion of the cracked skull, strangely deformed and crumpled, of a young girl with long dark hair lying inert on the dirty floor, locks soaked in that murky liquid that hardened the softness of those curls – her taut forearms drawn back behind her torso, her wrists clung irrefutably unpleasantly before her coccyx bone by a pair of silver handcuffs, face down like she fell there and dragged herself like a fish out of water away from you, like she couldn't get up before her head snapped in half.

The bloodied driver's license laid out on that little table in the corner said the name Jemma Anne Simmons. She was dressed only in a pair of matching underwear (the light lacy fabric splattered with dark blood and brain matter like red raindrops). The pupils of the dilated, brownish iris eyes seemed to want to pop out of their sockets; the forehead and face contorted in a tangle of expressions manifested by that faded stare (you could call it fear, but then also agony, pain, regret) that in the end no longer mean anything more.

A drop of sweat poured from your right temple and dripped to the floor between your feet, where the blood was already pooling. You held the oxygen inside your lungs before raising the blade behind your head once more, bringing it down fiercely against the back of the dead girl's neck. The sound was hollow and watery as the flesh split open, like a blade being driven into a pumpkin. Perhaps that was how Raskolnikov had felt when he hit the old woman in Crime and Punishment.

Taking them apart has always been the most exciting part. Disarticulating the bones from the joints, cutting the sinews, the skin, the flesh, the muscles, that would surely be a therapeutic monthly event for you (it was like quenching the dehydration of the thirsty, or the starvation of the hungry).

Ravenous doses of adrenaline laced your brain chemistry into a rush of emotions, and the compulsive dopamine instilled an ecstatic euphoria inside your chest. After all, cutting them off the limbs meant they were ready to be thrown away. So the job was done. It was the culmination of your actions in an outcome seen right before your eyes. And you got away with it – and that's where the fun lurked, an odd specter of pleasure that loosened your joints and relaxed your muscles.

Less than an hour was needed to do it with your resentful hands equipped with your egregious dexterity regarding the knowledge of the anatomical arrangement of the human body, clean and precise cuts made at the height of the joints – amputated limbs were bagged by rolled up black garbage bags by yards of sticky duct tape as Christmas presents for a homicidal maniac. Something morbidly comic about you has always reveled in the way your anatomy teacher flattered you so dearly in the classroom.

You looked like a Victorian poltergeist wandering the halls of your house after leaving the basement (leaving behind, in that unbreathable cubicle of dim, compressed walls, the pieces of the girl rotting in the dark), whose door opened into a scrawny little space below the red oak staircase, which grew in a diagonal line to the upper floor. It was a warm, sultry summer night.

You felt like a hunter in the woods as you headed towards the last door in the hallway, where the bedroom you shared with Wanda Maximoff, your girlfriend, was located about a year since she had broken into your house. The door opened with a long creak.

Facing the bed were ephemeral shoulders, the color of cold milk, to which the copious summit of a supple, soft back tucked into an old shirt of yours was cramped. Smooth back to the touch of fingertips, accented by long strands of brown hair. Between those expensive sheets there was the sharp look of a still young memory that echoed through your temples, that poured out its appreciation before the sleeping figure of your girlfriend, the nymph tenderness exhaled through her pores, Wanda's ether.

You snorted. Her stomach lying in the middle of the bed strangely reminded you of the body lying on the concrete where you had delivered the axe blows two floors below where Wanda snored so placidly. Something sparked in you.

You were studying her intently in a brief moment of darkness (your girlfriend, sleeping and fragile, had a childish lock of brown hair falling over her forehead and her dark brows furrowed, but her eyes were simple and rested, caught in a deep glint of sleep), drinking from her radiant red beauty as a drug addict does from their favorite drug – the female silhouette splashed by the ghostly bluish light of a streetlight outside and, in a way, even a synoptic veil of purity that accompanied your muse in the world of a utopian dream, like a poor helpless girl.

Covered by the fog of sleep as she was in that lapse of calm in the den of a messy bed, it was as if Wanda had never had her mental health even threatened by the ominous entities that surrounded her all her life since she was then a weeping young girl, like hungry vultures waiting for the death of a little wounded lamb in the pasture. She looked innocent. So, so innocuous. And, therefore, so corruptible.

Icy artificial lighting invaded the amorphous walls of the interior of the room, projected all by three specific points transverse to the serene countenance pierced by the sleeping extension of the pale face that Wanda possessed – from her eyebrows trimmed in their dark strands to the bridge of her nose and the apollonian cheekbones of her bucolic bone structure, clinging, in the moonlight, to the beaded bone of her powerful jaw. A mechanical innocence was imparted to her closed eyelashes.

Your heart fluttered, your pupils dilated with dopamine, when did you step onto the floorboards of the dark room and creeped your way to the bed that was just a puddle of rumpled sheets, where Wanda lay snuggled in the blandishments of the night. For brief seconds that together wouldn't even make up the whole of a minute, you watched her. You just watched her, plotting with yourself what you were going to do with her, how you were going to break her. She was naked down her navel, without any panties to be seen.

“You're so beautiful...” the tip of your right index and middle fingers swept the strand of unruly hair behind the shell of Wanda's ear, “I could just tear you apart.”

And then you fumbled for the strap-on of a long, thick scarlet silicone in an open drawer on a low shelf next to the bed, which you then proceeded to tie around your waistline after you got rid of your bloodstained jeans, your fingers quivering in euphoric anticipation as you did. Your desire to consume her swelled inside your stomach; you wanted to eat her alive, rip her skin, break her bones. You wanted to fuck her raw.

You then positioned yourself on top of Wanda on the bed, the mattress sinking from the unbalanced weight in just a single spot. With your lips parted, your pulps pink and split, you toke long bites to the contour of her milk-white neck, in the region of its junction with the left shoulder, by the hairline located in the gap between her ear and the neck, validating the traces of hickeys seated there, like clumsy strokes of dark paint on a blank canvas; since the bodies were close to the center of the vast bed, legs intertwined and warm hair tangled up in the pillow.

“Fuck, you're so hot, pretty girl,” was a quip breathed in hot breath against Wanda's lobe, your right hand guiding the length of the toy to part her moist pink folds, “So soft… so receptive... so submissive… you're perfect. My perfect girl.”

Wanda purred like a sleepy cat at the intimate sensation, her heavy lids still hooding her emerald eyes, enjoying the feel of your lips spattering bites over her ruffled epidermis. In an unguarded way, perhaps even somewhat needy in her core, she snuggled against your warm body above hers, tucking her tailbone between your hips.

A firm grip of your bloodied hand was strained against Wanda's hip with no explicit intentions of letting go. The silence, sharp and excruciating, came and went in a rather shy and awkward way. Tiny shriveled seconds that, together, took up minutes. One-hundred-fifty-seconds quiet.

Wanda's heart rumbled demeaningly in a sharp grip, for even if she didn't look you straight in the eye, she understood the fact that the woman who held her in her arms was nothing but lust and violence incarnate – even without being awake, Wanda's subconscious was well aware that your irises had taken on profuse and vicious hues, like sea water or a stormy sky. A rueful sigh of your exhaled warm and close to her ear.

And then you crept through her rosy slit, which inferred, from the frail Wanda held hostage to your diligent touch, a loud, strident growl, which dangled the base of her skull against the bone of your shoulder.

“Y-Y/n...?” Wanda's tiny voice resounded in a moan throughout the room that had once been engulfed in intrinsic silence, albeit a little sluggish and husky from her sleepy features, “What... what are you... what are you...?”

She moaned in a high-pitched squeal as you slid the entire length of the toy into her tight walls in one thrust with your taut hips.

“F-fuck-! Oh! Y/n, I- I don't-”

“Shut up and take it, okay?” you gifted her with a tiny deferred kiss on her scalp (artificial strawberry shampoo scent sweetening the sharp metal smell inside your nostrils), “I need to have you right now. I need you, Wanda.”

“I- I—” the shaven brows were, thus, wrinkled by the face as rosy as a peach; she sounded a little giddy in her rambling speech, pressing her fingers against the sheet, “I'm not sure if—”

“Come on, Wanda,” you whispered against her dark hair, “You're my good girl, aren't you?”

Wanda held her breath, “I’ll always be your good girl.”

And then, a smile blossomed on your part, the enamel of your teeth coming into contact with the sensitive skin of her pale neck, where you couldn't help but capture a rosy sliver between your lips and stick a mighty bite there – to remember her that while she was smoldering with pleasure, you were a powerful being who didn't even make an effort to push her buttons and drive her crazy. The insignificance of the human race at the hands of such a monstrous creature as you has never before been so exciting and aphrodisiac.

Your impassive left hand, passing under Wanda's ribs close to the mattress, touched her to the circumvallation of her rosy breast inside the material of the shirt, while your right index and middle fingers fingered her snatched clitoris in impetuous outlines. You moaned like an animal at the taste of blood sliding down the face of your tongue.

“I-it hurts,” Wanda whimpered airily before smiling in the dark, “Do it again. Fuck, do it again!”

The muscles in your abdomen stagnated as your bodily sensitivity acclimated when your hips snatched up Wanda's insides (exploring with the strap, opening and understanding; a new sensation brewed by each touch to ravage her insides), the hollow of your crotch going back and forth hard against Wanda's dripping center. A puddle formed on the sheets beneath her, the liquid running across the inside of her thighs. Wanda found herself reduced to a weeping, writhing, lost, helpless mess, but she couldn't even feel an ounce of shame inside.

“Fuck—” The pale hands, hungry for something to hold on to, screwed the curls of your head behind hers, seeking them just behind them; her head thrown back over your shoulder, a subtle vein popping under the epidermis of her neck, the scar with your initial pulsing on her right collarbone, “Fuck, Y/n, fuck-! S’s-so big-!"

“You're mine,” you kissed a sliver of skin down her clenched jaw, gripping her rosy breast tightly with the shrewd touch, “You're my whore to do with what I want with, Wanda. I’m gonna fucking tear you apart.”

The length inside her was like fire – just as strong and intoxicating. And Wanda felt full of gasoline. Before she could even ask for more, beg your like a believer before her god, you fucked her hard and steady all the way to her cervix, tying yourself to that deep and vulnerable spot inside her, and made to press yourself in her with irascible pumps. Wanda's plea, then, was cut short with a strangled roar, and from her emanated an inhuman shriek, trying and failing to open her legs to more of your touch.

A gulf of heat and wetness slid out of her pussy in response, and the bundle of nerves throbbing between her legs pulsed like a frantic heart against the ribs in her ribcage. And, for a couple of intangible moments, time became an abstract concept for Wanda.

You fucked her fast and primal, thrusting fast and hard into her insides soaked in a sticky liquid as it was - there was a firm intention behind every hard movement, every press of your fingers and every ghostly touch of your folded palm over her smoldering clit, which clamored for more attention with every touch given to it. The head of the bed slammed against the concrete wall.

You'd push Wanda forward and then mark her tight back muscles with bites and licks, pulling the sliding strap off and on from inside her vulva, toward the edge of a state of arousal that bordered on insanity; which, in such a way, ended up metamorphosing into a dance in synchronous partnership, like the symbiotic conception of a work of art by two artists of different styles. You leading and Wanda yielding to the rhythm you sentenced.

And, in such a way, Wanda diffused herself with every progression, even the smallest, so that she could beg, like an animal, for you to take her to a place she's never been before, for you to take her like no soul before had done it before her, so that you would fill her with what only a being such as you were in her eyes, (an inhuman deity) could supply her.

“Fuck, Wanda, I love the way your greedy cunt feel around my cock,” you muttered, dragging your lips down her shoulder, “You're so good to me, did you know that? So, so good...”

“I-I’m good…?”

She snorted, her chest heavy, lids pressed together over dark eyes, clouded with pleasure. Both brows furrowed in a lapse of voluptuousness, forehead buffed with a bead of crystalline sweat. She wanted to be good, and she liked to be recognized as such. She'd love to hear how good she was for you. She liked being flattered. You smiled in a husky voice in her ear.

“So, so good, slut. Good as fuck. You’re my favorite bitch.”

And in such a way you did it, as if only the praise given to her beloved's oratory was all it took to untie the knot of her primordial apex, woven just a hand below her secluded navel. Her body stiffened suddenly, her vision filled with a white thunder that stunned her senses into an electrical charge throughout her thighs.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, Y/n, fuck! Fuck!”

Irises darkened in a veil of smoldering rejoicing dipped to the waterlines of her eyes, and an ethereal mist, showered with sublime delight, crowded within her, pouring from her pulsing center the sweetest honey down the length of your strap wedged between her twitching crotch as it was—a hot, viscous membrane that oozed across the sheets, the height of her release.

Wanda's head dropped to the pillow, gasping, drunk on the intoxicated heat of the climax that rumbled through her muscles and bones. And she screamed against the pillowcase when you sank inside her swollen and abused pussy without circumlocution one more time.

“I still haven't come, you spoiled fucking brat,” you muttered over her, “Now spread your legs the way you know how. This will only end when I want it to end.”

Wanda smiled lethargically against the pillow.

“Alright, Y/n. I love you.”

“Yeah,” you kissed her temple, “I know.”

[icypenguin]

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ It’s not her?

HEY GUYSSSIJHSIHSJOHS im finally uploading heehe ill upload for tomorrow and sunday too :D btw this will take place in modern au! reader is a female (sorry T-T) and i suppose its hurt/comfort so enjoyyy!

note: [f/a]: favourite animal

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

prom was coming soon, everyone was excited ofcourse. you looked at lyney who was poking his lunch food. he looked lost in thoughts which is very odd. “hey lyney? you okay?” you tried talking to him but he didn’t budge. “lyneyyy?” you tried to call out for him again. but no response. “LYNEYYY!” he finally noticed your calling. “huh- oh” he looked at you with a straight face. “hey.. what’s wrong? you seem.. um idk, worried?” you looked at him with worried eyes. he’s never been like this before. “whaaat?! no way! ofcourse i’m not, i’m the brave and charming lyney!” he added a wink at the end. you chuckled at his response but then back to seriousness. “okay okay quit the joke, what’s wrong?” “nothing’s wrong y/n everything is fine!” he forced a smile on his face. you know you can’t really do anything else so you went with the flow.

“fine.. anyway, have you got someone in mind for prom?”. he placed a finger on his chin “mm i guess so…” a grin was added to his face. you didn’t know how to react, worried, glad, happy, sad, frustrated? “OOO who is ittt?!” you tried to act like you were excited but at the bottom of your heart, you were worried. your heart beated fast for him to say his answer. badum badum badum.. “hmmm… i can’t tell youuu! it’s a suprise ofcourse, just wait~” he winked again and now starting to eat his lunch.

you knew this was going to be his answer so you rolled your eyes and acted like you didn’t care. well, you didn’t want to look like you’re desperate for him because you think he’ll probably make fun of you anyway. well, the thought hurts you. “whatever i don’t care anyway” you tried acting cool and stuff. lyney hearing your response, it hurts him. he thought you’ll well- idk? beg for him to reveal the answer. but he’s not ready to say it anyway.

the bell rang, you both got ready to head to class again. “what do you have next?” you asked while you cleaned up your food. “bwiowogwe-“ “what?” you looked at him, his mouth was full of food. he looked like a chipmunk with nuts full in its mouth. you giggled at him, he always got his ways to make you laugh. “lyney! what do you think you’re doing?” you chuckle again. he tried to chew his food down but ofcourse it was tough so he mixed it with some water (idk if u think thats gross or what but u understand right? thats lyney).

after 3 minutes he finally swallowed all of the food in his mouth. “i have biology next” he answered like nothing happened. you chuckled again and smiled “great! we have the same class. now let’s hurry up!” you both quickly ran into the classroom because you were already late 5 minutes.

there you finally arrived and as you open the door, all eyes were on you both. “lyney, y/n, why are you both late? and together?” miss clorinde crossed her arms as she looked at you both. you looked at eachother blushing a bit. “my foot got stuck and y/n had to help me” lyney covered it up confidently. you went with the flow because is they know the truth its well- silly. “alright, if you’re both late again i’ll make you stand on one leg at the front” she declared, then she made a hand sign for you to sit on your desk.

there’s no desk side-by-side thats empty so you decided to sit next to lynette at the corner. lyney sat next to lumine at the middle. through the class, you kept looking at lyney and lumine as they both were passing notes. now, you’re sure he’s asking her out for prom.

the bell rang and you packed your bags. when you looked around, lyney was already gone. ‘oh he’s probably already with lumine’ you thought. but you noticed that he left his notebook in his desk. you searched for him and spotted him in the school garden… with lumine. he was holding a bouquet and a [f/a] plushie in his other hand. you knew he knows your favourite animal, but why give it to lumine? was he playing with you this whole time? was he just using you? the passing notes made sense then.

tears were starting to form in your eyes. you couldn’t hold it anymore and ran to your dorm. you didn’t care whoever was seeing you. your heart was broken. you went to your dorm and huddled up on your bed, letting all the tears out. you looked to the frame on your bedroom with a picture of you and lyney at a carnival together. you threw the picture on the carpet and cried silently. after some minutes lynette, your dorm mate, came in, “y/n?” she knocked on your door. “w-what?!” you continued crying. you didn’t care if lynette sees you crying, she’s been your bestfriend since you were a kid.

lynette opens the door to your room carefully and saw you huddled up on the bed. “oh y/n.. what happened?” she asked you in a worried tone. “i-i saw lyney asking lumine to prom! i mean.. what was i thinking? it’s obvious that lumine is better, smarter, prettier, sweeter, nicer, lovelier-“ “y/n.” lynette looked at you with a straight look. “lyney is waiting for you” “well- he probably wants to talk to me about lumine accepting him” you choked out a sob. “no.. no he doesn’t. please just see him okay?” she wiped the remaining tears from your face. you didn’t know what could possibly convince you to see him but a piece inside you told you to.

so you standed up, not caring if you look bad. and went to the door and as you open it, lyney is there holding the bouquet and the [f/a] plushie that he was holding infront of lumine. you were confused. “in a garden- wait y/n what’s wrong? have you been crying?” lyney got worried as he saw your puffy eyes. “what are you doing lyney? i saw you asking lumine out for prom..” tears were starting to form in your eyes again, and you hate it. they were starting to drop. “w-what y/n it’s not what it looks like. please dont cry” he tried to comfort you. “what do you like it’s not what it looks like?! you clearly asked lumine to prom and i bet she accepted you!” you were starting to cry again. “n-no wait hear me out! it was just a practice. the person i wanted to ask out to prom i-is you. i wanted to make eveyrhting perfect so i ddi a practice with lumine”. after hearing lyney, your tears stopped. “w-wait.. so you weren’t asking her out?” “no, ofcourse not, she likes that childe guy anyway- now may i do my thing?” you felt relieved to hear this.

you chuckled and nodded. “being clever as ever, sitting in a field with a bee. to the sweetest girl ever, will you go to prom with me?” he smirked at the end. you giggled at this and replied “ofcourse! ofcourse ofcourse ofcourse!” you hugged him vigorously and he gave you the bouquet and plushie. “aww you knew my fav animal!” you looked at the [f/a] plushie and the beautiful bouquet. “ofcourse, i’m a loyal one” he grinned. you blushed a bit and hugged him again. “you’re the best lyney” you gave him a supeise kiss on the cheek, now it was his turn to blush. lynette watching from afar, is delighted by the sight.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

thankyou sooo much for reading! im sorry if its too long hehe… ill post tomorrow and sunday as well. advices are accepted, thankyouuu!

[rodolfoparras]

@owyn-cormac posted this screen of Digger

https://www.tumblr.com/owyn-cormac/742665522456526848?source=share

And all I can think about is his teeth.

They were joking in the tags about people reblogging and talking about his tongue?

All I'm thinking about is his canines

He looks like a biter, probably bites you all the time, especially during sex. While topping or bottoming

Let him top in doggy? Probably leaning over you and biting your shoulder and growling like a fucking animal 😊 probably makes you bleed too!

Don't let him see that tattoo trend of people getting their partner's bite marks on them (which is soo A/B/O coded btw)

(I NEED HIM SO SO BAD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)

-🐧

First of all thank you sm for linking me to this beautiful account🧎🏻‍♂️ SECOND OF ALL HELLO WHY WOULD YOU PUT THIS THOUGHT IN MY HESD

Digger who loves to mark you up, so much so the rest of the team likes to joke how it looks like you got mauled by a bear or something but he’s smiling proudly in the corner

Digger sinking his teeth into your skin and cleaning it up with his tongue, proudly gripping your ass cheek, while you fuck him,hands resting just on the spot he left his marks digger who will jokingly bite down on your finger and accidentally draw blood, only to eagerly clean it up with his tongue, cock hard and weeping the whole time

ALSO THE TATTOO TREND ARE OUR MINDS CONNECTED BC I WAS THINKING ABOUT THIS not bite marks specifically but getting your initials tattooed on him? Getting to rest your hands on the tattoo while fucking him ?

[killerlookz]

Hiiii!

I saw your post about requesting for Joost, and idk if this is good but I'll try my best!(first time requesting something btw)

So, we all looooove some good jealousy prompts right?(or am I just weird?)

I saw some about reader being jealous and blah blah blah but how about a jealous Joost?

He isn't the type to be easily jealous he really isn't! He trusts you with his life! But... what if HE isn't enough?

He's on tour, away from you for months. He hates it but he loves it at the same time, on one side: his work is being seen, he's getting money, he's visiting other countries. But on other side... you're away from each other and it kills him.

So, one night, he just got back from a show, he showered on the hotel bathroom, he's drying his hair with a towel while he sees random stuff on insta, he sits on the fresh hotel bed when he sees one new story from you.

You're smiling and there's a friend of yours, smiling too, with a caption:"thanks for the amazing night (friend nickname) you're the best! ❤️"

And the two of you are at you favorite restaurant.

You did mentioned to joost that you were feeling lonely without him, that work was killing you and you wanted to go out... he is happy for you, of course, but... he just wishes it was HIM next to you on the photo, it was HIM that took you out. HIM that you were sending heart emojis to.

(Maybe reader and joost are dating or maybe you could do a friends to lovers on this one)

So, as soon as he's back, he's knocking on your apartment door.

He doesn't even waits, as soon as you open the door, he hugs you, he's all over you.

"Joost?! You're back already?? Oh I missed you too!"

You hug him back.

Joost lives this. This peace. This warmth. This love, his heart bursting with adoration, he wants to prove to you that he's the best, that no friend could ever replace him!

Sorry if this is not good! Anyway, thanks for even reading this!

a/n: omg thank you so much for this prompt anon! i looove a good detailed prompt, i think i stuck mainly to your request, i really only changed some dialogue to fit the story! side note... i had a lot of trouble formatting this for some reason, so hopefully this posts ok. tumbr is giving me grief lmao

Irreplaceable | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, Joost wins Eurovision (as he should), drinking, a singular dirty joke, allusion to smut if you squint, and hickies. alternating POVS, some dutch, mostly pet names (schat, lieverd, liefje), and small phrases (ik hou van jou= i love you, het spijt me= i'm sorry) this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 3,630

Your fingers sweep across the glowing keyboard of your phone. The intense bright white of the display in contrast with the dark of the restaurant that surrounds you makes you lower your eyes into a squint, the letters blurring before you.

Much needed night with my girl <3

You reposition the text to fit with the picture, a half-tipsy selfie you had taken just moments prior with your best friend, Anna. Your finger hovers over the "your story" button on the bottom left corner of your screen. You do one last scan of the photo, looking at the wide grins of you and your friend, you couldn't remember the last time you had seen yourself so happy.

You tap the button, deciding the photo is worthy to be seen by your whopping 400 Instagram followers.

"Did I look hot in that?" Anna's voice pulls you away from your phone, you place it face down against the white tablecloth in front of you. She's raising an eyebrow at you as her red lipstick coated lips curl into a smirk. She swirls a nearly empty glass of red wine in her hand.

"Of course," You grin, "When do you not?"

"Good point." She winks before raising the glass to her lips, finishing what was left in a single swig.

You'd been more than grateful for Anna taking you out tonight. Truth be told, the last few weeks had been bleak. They consisted mostly of you sitting at your kitchen counter, hunched over your computer doing work. Who knew working from home could be so stressful. You'd been completely swamped ever since a co-worker who had shared your position switched companies. Now you were stuck doing double the work for the same pay.

But maybe even worse than the stress of work was the loneliness of it. Taking a remote job had seemed ideal when you accepted the position, however, now you realized it was just like working any other office job without any of the human connection or interaction.

Your life hadn't always been this lonely, but you guessed that was the price you paid for living the city life, coupled with dating a musician.

Joost had been doing music since you met him a year and a half ago, and in that short amount of time, you never would have expected how huge he would have gotten. A summer hit in Germany and a fucking Eurovision win catapulted him into success.

Of course, you were more than proud of him, in fact, words couldn't even describe how happy you were for him. He deserved each and every fan, and each and every stream.

But being a musician meant being busy, and in particular, being on tour for weeks to months at a time.

Truth be told, during these last five weeks, Joost was on tour you had been living vicariously through videos posted online of his performances, desperately wishing you were in the crowd getting to watch him do what he loved every night. You would scroll intently in the isolating darkness of your apartment, at this point you had to have seen every angle of every single performance he'd done on tour thus far. It at least helped you feel a little less alone, watching how he smiled on stage, adoring the crowd, similar to the ways he had adored you.

You'd barely left the house since Joost had started touring, but you owed everything to Anna for forcing you out tonight. You were actually enjoying yourself.

A shadow looms over you, forcing you out of your thoughts. Your head whips to the side, and your waiter is standing over you

"Whenever you're ready." He places the black leather book in the middle of the table and nods as his lips press into a tight smile before walking away.

"Dinner's on me," Anna smiles slyly, her hand darting out and swiping the check from where it lay on the table. You can't say you're shocked by her offer, she had always been generous, but your heart is warmed by her kindness.

"Oh you don't have t-"

"Yes I do," She cuts you off. "This is your night out. Remember?"

"Thank you," You grin.

"Don't mention it," she opens the book, glancing down at the check, "Oh," She looks up at you, "Zoë asked if we want to meet her, Noor, and Hanna for drinks after this. They're at that bar a few blocks away. And seeing as I drank most of this bottle of wine, I reckon you need a few more drinks in you"

Your head bobs up and down, nodding, "More drinks sounds just about perfect right now."

Moments later the waiter is coming by again, taking the check off the table.

You look down at your phone on the table, flipping it over. The screen shines bright, revealing two notifications.

Joostklein liked your story

Joostklein replied to your story: have fun, liefje <3

A smile creeps onto your face and your chest swells with a warmth that both comforts you and stings at the same time. What you would give to have him here right now. Your thumb grazes over the screen, tapping the message to respond.

"C'mon y/n" Your head flings up at the sound of Anna's voice, "I got my card back, we should get going."

You nod, standing up from your seat, slipping your still open phone into the pocket of your jacket.

Joost lay on the stiff linens of a hotel bed. The lingering scent of his shampoo filled his nose as he took a deep breath, turning over his phone to check his notifications once again. Nothing.

It had been three hours and fifteen minutes since he noticed that you saw his response to your Instagram story, three hours and fifteen minutes since you saw his response and didn't respond.

He flips his phone back down, turning to his side, the pillow is damp against his face from his freshly washed hair. He closed his eyes and thought about that picture of you, how you smiled so wide, the way your eyes twinkled. He couldn't help but smile as he thought about it, it was almost like a reflex to him. Seeing you in such a state brought him an unexplainable warmth.

However, a part of him felt weird, a strange sense of yearning as he thought about the photo, Anna so close to you, the way you thanked her, complete with a heart. Part of him hoped that that was him taking you out to eat, him getting you to smile like that. But it wasn't, and it hadn't been him in a long time, and it wouldn't be, not for a while.

Of course, the two of you shared heartfelt messages with each other every day, and phone calls whenever you could. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as being right there with you in person. It was hard for him, and he knew it was hard for you too.

In an instant, he's thinking about the last phone call you shared, just yesterday, the way you'd broken down in tears to him, about your workload, about how isolated you'd been feeling. He tried to keep composed, but he knew that he was part of the reason you were crying, though you never outright blamed him. All he could do was gently coo to you on the other end of the phone, softly pleading with you to not cry, that you would be alright. Truth be told he wanted to curl up and die in that moment. He'd never forget the sound of your wavering voice, the way it cracked just before a desperate sob clawed its way out of your throat, "I just miss you so much."

Part of him wondered if you would ever get sick of this if one day you would wake up and realize you didn't want a boyfriend who was gone all the time.

He had no problem with you spending a night out with your friends, in fact, he was ecstatic that you seemed to be having a good time, it was the fact that he wasn't able to share that good time with you that led to the sinking feeling in his chest that he felt now. You having left him on seen had only added insult to injury. If he really thought about it, he'd much rather feel this jealousy than have you cooped up in your empty apartment all night.

He shook his head, rolling onto his side, damning himself for feeling so selfish right now.

He turned his phone over once more, and the time flashed in front of him, 1:47 AM. Fuck. It was later than he thought. His jealousy was completely replaced by worry, and his stomach flipped. Surely it was far too late for you to still be at dinner, you'd told him you'd text him when you got home.

Anxiety set in as he began to weigh his options, either he could call you and potentially disturb your night out, or not call you, leaving you unbothered, but leaving him worried about where you were. After all, what if something happened, he'd never forgive himself for not calling.

He unlocked his phone, scrolling his recent calls so he could call you. He swore he could hear his heart beating as the phone rang, once, twice, three, four times-

"Hmm hi mmbaby." Your words are sloppy on the other end, and for a moment Joost worries that he may have woken you up, until he clocks the combination of the stifled thumping of music, and screeches of laughter.

"Hoi schat, where are you?" His eyebrows furrow

"I am..." You trail off, "I am at a bar, like, i think. I think two blocks from the restaurant- wherever I was." You sigh.

"Are you drunk, lieverd, who's there?" Joost cringes at his words, silently cursing himself for his interrogative tone.

"Ummm... Maybe a little, or a lot" You giggle, "And um- Anna, duh, and... Hanna..." You pause to laugh for a moment, "Anna and Hanna," You repeat, obviously fascinated with the rhyme, "And Zoë and Noor."

"Okay," Joost sinks into the bed, relief washes over him when he recognizes the names of who you're with. "I don't want to bother, I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He's timid, it's unlike him to be so quiet, his words softly tip-toeing around his true feelings, feelings of how bad he wishes it could be him you were out with right now.

"Okay?" You repeat with more emphasis, "Not ok...I am great!"

"That's good to hear." He hopes his jealousy doesn't peak through his short words, it feels terrible, his stomach has tied itself up in knots and the guilt he feels for feeling this way strangles him.

He thought about the nights the two of you would go out drinking together, the way your eyes would light up when a song you liked played, you'd grip his hand tight, forcing him out up so he could dance with you. He'd always end up more drunk off his love for you than he did from the alcohol, no matter how much he drank. By the end of the night, like clockwork, the bartender would be shouting that it was last call, and Joost would stand at the bar, taking the remaining sips of his final drink. Your head would rest against his arm, eyes barely open. You'd complain your feet hurt from all the dancing you'd been doing, your voice thick with intoxication and exhaustion. As the two of you headed out, he'd let you climb on his back so he could carry you to wherever the pair of you were going. He'd love nothing more than to feel that now, to feel the comforting weight of your body against his back, to feel your arms wrapped around his neck, your head nuzzled against him, the warmth of your breath tickling the skin of his neck.

"I'm so happy," You state, and Joost can almost hear your smile through the phone. "M'so happy. Love my friends."

"Sounds like they're taking good care of you,"

"Yes, such such good care of me, don't you worry - they will have me back home in one piece."

"Goed, will you be home soon?"

"Mmmprobably, my feet huuuurt." You whine, causing Joost to let out a small chuckle, like clockwork, "Nngh- If only I had a tall, handsome, strong, dutch man, preferably one who is blonde and has a mustache and is also named Joost Klein to carry me home." You sigh loud and dramatically.

Your words sting, Joost knows you don't mean them to, but he can't help but feel a twinge in his chest at how badly he wishes he were the one taking you home.

"I'll carry you wherever you want when I get home, to make up for my absence, you won't have to walk a single step ever again."

Joost's face lights up hearing you giggle on the other end, but suddenly your laughter dies down, and you sigh once more,

"I think- I should go,"

"That's alright, get home safe, ik hou van jou"

"I love you t-,"

"Eyy," Joost cuts you off, "In Dutch."

"Ik hou ook van jou."

Joost <3: Flight was cancelled, I don't know when I'll be able to get on another, het spijt me, I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight.

It had been a whole eight weeks that Joost had been gone, and as you stared down at the text you just received, it felt like if you had were to spend one more second apart from him you might just explode.

Sure a cancelled flight may only delay you seeing your boyfriend for a few hours, maybe a day at most, you could still feel the tears welling up in your eyes. It already felt so late, you didn't want to wait anymore. You tilt your head back, blinking rapidly to fight the small droplets pooling in your waterline.

Your phone chimes again.

Joost <3: I'll see you soon, I promise, Oké?

You're barely able to read the message through your wet eyes before there's a knock at your door. You sniffle, and quickly dry your tears, confused at who would be knocking on your door at this time. You slowly rise up from your bed, walking with trepidation towards the door.

You press your chest up against the door, closing one eye tight to look through the peephole. As your gaze adjusts, you feel your heart slip down to you the stomach it couldn't be.

Quick, trembling fingers are racing to unlock the locks of your apartment door before flinging it open. It was.

There Joost was, standing before you. A grin plastered onto his face, he'd been holding something in each hand, a bouquet of flowers in one, a bottle of wine in the other, but still his arms were stretched out, inviting you in for a hug.

Before you can even think of a word to speak you're running into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his torso. The familiar warmth of his body heat fills your body.

He must be able to hear the sound of your heart from how loud its beating, or at the very least, feel its rapid pulses against his chest. You nuzzle your face against him, taking in the gentle scent of his cologne. It's so familiar, and inviting, and you feel nothing but overwhelming love as you let Joost overwhelm your senses.

"You don't know how much I've missed you." His kisses pause for a moment as he mumbles against your hair.

"I've missed you too," You strengthen your grip around his waist, "So much."

"Let me put this stuff down so I can give you a real hug, ok?"

You don't want to let go, not even for a moment, you'd spent far too long without him, and you feared if you let him go, even just for a second, he would disappear again. Reluctantly, you let your arms fall from his torso, sighing at the lack of warmth you feel as your body separates from his. He steps around you, leaning over to kiss your cheek as he passes you, "Stay here,"

"Huh?" You question, about to step forward to follow him into your apartment.

"No, no no- stay there." Joost quickly whips his head back around, moving towards the kitchen counter to place the wine and the flowers. He looks up and smiles before heading towards you.

His arms wrap around your lower back, beckoning for you to jump a little so you can put your legs around his hips and he can carry you. Once Joost had you steadily in his arms, he walked forward, letting go with one arm to quickly shut the door behind the two of you before placing it back around you once more.

"I told you, you wouldn't have to walk when I get back,"

"Hmm, won't have to or won't be able to?" You smirk as you push your body against his, laying your head on Joost's shoulder, he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

"Such a dirty mind." He chastises

You place soft, passionate kisses against Joost's neck, slowly trailing up to his jaw, before eventually planting a kiss on his lips. He wastes no time in kissing you back, his lips hungrily going after your own. Your hands find your way into his hair, your nails softly scratching at his head as gently pull at the blonde strands.

Joost breaks the kiss so he can turn around, placing you on the kitchen counter. He stands in front of you, in between your legs, you wrap them around him in an effort to bring him closer to you. Your head flips to the side,

"Are these for me?" you pull at one of the flower petals with your thumb and pointer finger, feeling its soft velvety texture.

"Of course, and the wine. Well, I guess that's for us. I'll order us some takeaway, I know it's not as going out- but I promise I'll take you out tomorrow, I'll make up for every second I was gone," Joost's fingers gently grip your jaw, pulling you to face him. Your eyes meet his, deep and blue, filled with a light you missed all too well, "I'm sorry, liefje, for making you so lonely."

"You know that's not your fault." You tilt your head, pouting at his consolation. His words cut, how could he blame himself?

"It's okay if you say it is," His hand trails up your face, resting his palm against your jaw, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your cheek, "You can tell me."

You stare at him with wide eyes, your brain searching for the right words to properly convince him that he has done nothing wrong.

"No," You manage to whisper, "You don't know how happy it makes me to know you're performing every night, to know you're doing what you love."

"But if I wasn't gone all the t-"

"I wouldn't trade this situation for the world." You cut him off, staring at him intensely, hoping to communicate how deeply you mean your words.

"Okay," Joost concedes, his voice quiet, he was never one to fight you on things, "But one day, when I make enough money, I'll take care of you," He cranes his neck, planting a kiss against the opposite cheek of where his hand rests. The stubble of his facial hair is scratchy against your skin, in an oddly comforting way, it's familiar, and it reminds you of your close proximity. You sigh, drinking in the intimacy of the moment as his lips lower to your neck. He pulls away briefly, "You won't have to work another second and I'll take you everywhere with me."

A soft smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, and you cannot help the heat that floods your body as you picture your future together. It's a comforting picture, and it makes all the waiting, all the lonely nights worth it.

Your hand reaches out, tugging at the thick fabric of his sweatshirt, attempting to pull him even closer to you, like you wanted your bodies to intertwine, to fuse and become one so you'd never have to be without him again.

"I can't wait," Your words are short, your breath getting caught in your throat as Joost nips at your neck. His lips are soft, soothing the tingling pinch of his teeth against your skin.

His breath is hot, and each kiss is filled with an ardent longing. Warmth spreads through your stomach as his hand slips to the back of your neck, his fingers thread through the strands of your hair, before tugging gently, careful not to hurt you. But it is enough to make your breathing shaky and you wonder if you're even going to get to break open that bottle of wine anytime soon.

You hope he leaves a mark against your neck, you hoped he'd leave many. If you were in any space to talk, you'd speak up and tell him as much, begging for a pretty purple and red reminder of where he'd been.

As much as you ached for it, you didn't really need a mark to remind you of his love for you. You knew every word he spoke was true, how he'd make up for every second he spent without you, how as soon as he had the means to he'd provide fully for you. It was obvious, his love was warm, it was soft, it was something completely irreplaceable.

a/n: hiii!! wow my first time writing for Joost, I haven't written rpf in awhile, so i hope i did it justice! and thank you so much again anon for the request, i hope it is to your liking :-)

[squeiky]

I regret nothing-

[ID: A (bad) water color painting of sonic the hedgehog hugging Shadow the hedgehog from behind. One hand on his head and the other near his chest. Shadow is one the floor, on his knees, looking upwards sobbing. He's dressed In a sleeveless leather jacket with a desgin of flames that come from the bottom to the top. He wears a ripped, purple crop-top, has a green with black stripes hair(?) Extensition, ripped dark blue jeans and his rocket shoes now have a more boot-like apperance.

Speech bubble for sonic says: "OH Edgy my Hedgy, why are you sad?"

Shadow's speech bubble says: "MY chemical romance couldn't romance me enoughh"

Text on the top left hand corner inside parenthesis says, "I confuse "edge" with emo and e-girl, sometimes."

Middle bottom text reads: "It's not a phase!" :End ID]

Mabe this as a joke, got carried away lol. Everytime someone says "Shadow is an edgelord" I keep thinking of him like this.

Not sure if I find this hilarious or if I feel a part of my soul has chipped and died.

This is drawn right next to this btw:

Which is hilarious considering that this^ is a homage to SA2, and THAT is not.

It's such a tonal whiplash oh God xD

[yelenasdog]

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐖𝐈  𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: wherever they go, it seems they can’t escape each other

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.09k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smoking, drinking, kissing, getting ~steamy~, but nothing explicit.

𝐚/𝐧: this kinda feels melodramatic at times, but over all i think this is an alright fic that took me forever LOL! i hope you enjoy it! btw,

this can be read as ben!rog or just rog, i just was thinking of ben!rog when i wrote it

also if u wanna listen to kiwi while listening, the vibes would be immaculate and i reccomend it :D kk enjoy

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

-

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I���ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of  excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do. 

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous. 

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

-

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

-

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

“Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

if u liked that hot mess pls like and rb!! mwah ily go eat protein and drink water if ur able. xx hj

[poison-in-my-pen]

Second Sun

A/N: A sensual one-shot.

The sun was setting across the sea in the distance. I stood at the edge and gazed for a long time at the swirling colors of the sky and the glint of the colors dripping into the sea. It was a spectacular evening surrounded by the beauty of nature and friends. A majority of the day was spent either on the beach or hiking and as the sun began its descent we all gathered in the backyard to enjoy a meal, conversations, and summertime.

I walked towards the swing and sat, no matter how old you get, you are never too old for the swing. I closed my eyes and became lost in the feeling of soaring and being free from my body. The deep laughter pulled me from my reverie and I opened my eyes to see Pedro’s deep grin tugging at the corners of my lips forcing me to smile as well, his pull even from this distance was magnetic, he looked at me and I saw the sun in his eyes, he brought his own sunshine wherever he went and it is quite the feeling to have those glistening eyes focused on you. He beckoned to the empty seat next to him and I stood and walked towards him and the group, his non-verbal cues were twice that of his words able to draw me into a conversation with just his eyes.

I rejoined the group at the table sitting on Pedro’s left. He had a bowl of fruits and a knife in front of him. I watched him in a non-committal way allowing my gaze to travel from our friends then out to the sea. I felt the coldness on my lips and I blinked back into the present moment as his fingers held a piece of fruit up to my lips. I bit down on half and chewed, he laughed and commented on what someone said. He waited patiently as I swallowed the fruit then he lifted the other half to my lips. As I chewed, he lifted a slice of a different fruit to his mouth and chewed it whole. He lifted a slice of the same fruit to my mouth and I bit half, the juices escaping my mouth and dripping down his hand, he brings his fingers to his lips and plopped the fruit into his mouth, sucking some of the remaining juices from his fingers and the coital ache stabbed me in the apex.

He picked up a fat strawberry and bit into it and my eyes became transfixed by the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, becoming aware of the warmth in my panties. He lifted his fingers to my mouth and as I bit into the same strawberry I allowed my gaze to linger on his eyes. There was one slice of fruit remaining, he bit half and lifted the other half to my lips. I opened my mouth and bit down gently as he slowly pulled his fingers from my lips, his thumb swiped against my bottom lip, wiping away some of the juices that escaped my mouth and he lifted his fingers to his lips.

“Get a room.” Someone joked.

“We will.” He answered, not missing a beat.

Post Note: I couldn’t stop grinning when I wrote this. Btw, I’m new to the Pascal fic family. I wrote this July 2020 and forgot about it, smh. I’m unsure of how often I will post Pedro fics, but I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

[gremlingalaxy]

Wow would you look at that, I remembered I have social media that I can post my art to, guess it must be a blue moon tonight.

Sarcastic joking at my own expense aside, this was my entry for the RQ fanart contest. It didn't make it to the finalist/voting round (pssst btw you should go vote on the ones that did) but I'm still quite proud of it so I figured I might as well share it here anyways. I did my piece for the prompt MAG119 specifically, that's the episode 'Stranger & Stranger'.

Please click the image for better quality cuz tumblr is a shit and tanks it so hard.

[Image Description: It's a dark room, with a reddish undertone to the shadows. There are three spotlights. One red, coming from the upper right corner, one blue, coming from the upper left corner, and one green, coming from above and the center of the canvas. There's also the impression of a fog or smoke rolling along the bottom of the canvas.

In the foreground is Tim, standing with his back to the viewer. He is wearing a dark green hoodie and jeans. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows, revealing worm scars along his lower arms and hands. His right hand is clenched into a fist and in his left he holds a remote detonator. He has an undercut and the longer parts of his hair are messy and tousled. He is mostly in shadow because the light source (the red spotlight) is in front of him, between him and Nikola. Along the edges of his figure there are sharp, bright red highlights. The lighting also puts more emphasis on the hand that holds the detonator.

In front of him stands Nikola, wearing clothes reminiscent of an old-fashioned circus ringmaster. She is far taller than she has any right to be. All of her joints are that of intricate wooden dolls, but her "skin" has the pale hue of a typical plastic clothing store mannequin. She has black hair underneath her top hat. She has a static smile plastered on her face, giving us a full plastic toothed grin. Her "lips" are painted red. Her eyes are black, almost void-like, with a small pinprick of a pupil in each eye looking down at Tim. There are heart-shaped dark red marks on her cheeks that appear to be bleeding. Her entire form is slightly distorted by a repetition of her lineart in red, blue, and green.

At the bottom of the canvas, centered in the middle, roughly on Tim's hips, is a line of text that reads "So come and take it." This is a line from the episode Stranger & Stranger. The text is mildly distorted by the green static-y effect of the Beholding, which is what let Tim come back to his senses and is carrying him through this moment.

End Image Description.]

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 280: I Am Red Riot

Previously on BnHA: The pro heroes over at Gunga Mountain struggled against Gigantomachia and the League until finally Midnight was all, “fuck it, let’s just put the kids in charge.” Momo immediately got to work organizing a sophisticated counteroffensive involving an exploding swamp, a bunch of sedative cans, and a massive coordinated team attack. I gotta tell you guys, it’s really something to watch a large-scale group attack in which all of the team members are actually competent. I don’t know what Japan put in the water when all these sixteen-year-olds were growing up, but that shit has paid off big time, and basically the only reason Machia hasn’t gone down yet is because he cheated and was all “sneeze” and the kids all got blown away because they are little and because he is really, really big. Anyway so then Dabi set the forest on fire because he loves doing that, and the chapter ended with Mina using her Acid Man attack to make herself FUCKIN’ FIREPROOF so she could charge through the woods ready to save the day and stuff!

Today on BnHA: Mina launches herself straight at Machia like the beautiful corrosive wild child she is, but then everything goes to shit when she recognizes him from that one time she almost got murdered while giving a strange man directions. Just when it’s looking like she might get killed for real this time, KIRISHIMA SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY AND SHOVES HER TO SAFETY AND IS ALL “BOTTOMS UP” AND HEAVES A LITERAL CAN OF WHOOPASS RIGHT IN MACHIA’S MOUTH. At this point the grown-ups are all “oh wow look at that, time for us to take over for you kids now, don’t worry we’ve got it all under control” because Oh Those Wacky Pros and all that, but at least Majestic finally deigns to show his face so that’s a plus! The chapter ends with us cutting back to the Jakku battle, where Tomura is curled up in a little ball all “curse you heroes, how dare you [checks notes] save people all the time”, which is a real take and a half. Anyway so things are looking up, which can only mean everyone is about to die. That’s how it works, right. Shit.

HOLY SHIT LOL

THIS IS MINA. SHE’S REALLY COOL AND SHE CAN MELT PEOPLE. um, the hell kind of tagline is that?? holy fucking shit?? “melt and succumb”?? IS THE SUCCUMB PART REALLY NECESSARY. IS THAT NOT ALREADY IMPLIED. it’s like saying “die and then perish”, which actually sounds really badass and I’m about to make it my new go-to threat actually so you know what never mind. where the fuck were we anyway

“IS EVERYONE SAFE” some absurdly bad-at-gauging-situations kid from class B is yelling while the forest is on fire and all the kids are recovering from having been catapulted fifty miles by King Dodongo’s windy yeet breath. of course they are safe, sweet child. of course everyone is absolutely fine, why the fuck would they possibly not be safe after something like that

KAMINARI NOOO MY POOR SWEET BABY

AT LEAST HE’S STILL CONSCIOUS ENOUGH TO MAKE STUPID JOKES. holy shit this baby got concussed to hell and back and then Machia turned him and the others into precipitation and he wasn’t in any kind of state to even try to land safely, I hope to god someone caught him

Sero is all “is there anyone still in range!” and damn, I like that he’s taking charge and trying to regain their momentum. he is so criminally underrated. I feel like he’s in the top six or seven of class 1-A kids who I would most trust to take charge. which is very high praise because that class has a lot of charge-taking kids

SPEAKING OF

it “probably” can’t get through her acid, she says. my god. sometimes the spirit of Plus Ultra just takes ahold of these kids and it’s like, I want to ruffle their hair proudly and then grab them by the shoulders and shake them vigorously because WHERE EVEN IS YOUR SELF-PRESERVATION WHY DO NONE OF YOU HAVE IT GODDAMMIT AIZAWA REALLY SHOULD HAVE EXPELLED YOU GUYS AFTER ALL

man. and yet I really do love this “be the one who can do it” stuff. what a heroic fucking attitude dfjfklks. I’ll just go put on my humongous sandwich board that reads GIANT FUCKING HYPOCRITE and go stand in the corner

damn it this week’s scan is annoyingly dark, it’s really hard to tell what’s going on but it looks like the pros are attacking Machia and the League at long last. way to go guys it only took you seven years but you finally hopped to it

MINA WHY IS THE ACID COMING OFF OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. PUT IT BACK!!!

I KNOW SHE’S NOT GONNA DIE DAMMIT BUT AHHHHH AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH

okay what the hell is up with these weird zen proverbs though

“your fear stricken heart”, “the shortest path”, what the fuck even is this. whose thoughts are these. normally these translations are honestly decent enough but I gotta say this time around I’m totally being thrown for a loop lmao

(ETA: FYI I’m only just now realizing that he was saying the shortest path to Master, as in Tomura, not “master” as in to master something fjkldjskf lol some delayed reading comprehension there. so basically he’s just bitching about how annoying these little “flies” are proving to be.)

JESUS CHRIST

okay is it just me, or is Gigantomachia suddenly showing intelligence in his eyes instead of mindless animal instinct the single most pants-shitting thing you’ve ever seen?!! holy shit. the way he just LOOKS at her out of nowhere all of a sudden?? holy fucking shit DO NOT HURT MT. LADY OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. AND DON’T YOU DARE HURT MINA EITHER!! JUST FUCKING DIE AND PERISH

but also though, is that recognition in Mina’s eyes?? because even though this dude is 80 feet tall now, her encounter with him a couple years back had to have been one of the more memorable experiences of her young life. damn I was wondering when this would finally come into play

OKAY YES THE NEXT PAGE IS A FLASHBACK OH SHIT

this has nothing to do with anything but Mina just has the prettiest hair, btw, and this “just woke up covered in acid” look is a particularly good one on her. it looks so soft and fluffy, like damn. this is like Shouto-hair-billowing-in-the-wind levels of pretty here

NOOOOO

oh my god holy shit?! putting her back in the school uniform to show the slip in her mentality is a PUNK MOVE, HORIKOSHI, and I respect the shit out of you for it you manipulative bastard. goddammit. bracing myself for the incoming wave of Mina feels... here they come... they’re a lot... let’s see if I can latch on to anything I can actually figure out how to describe in words

okay well here’s one, my respect for Mina’s bravery just went up like a thousand percent in this instant, because now we know this was actually such a traumatizing event for her that hearing Machia’s voice again years later immediately sent her into a full-blown flashback. she was that scared and yet she still stood up to him and didn’t hesitate. and now I’m remembering how her knees just buckled right afterwards, and just...

and this visual, though!! what a brutally effective way to show that in her mind she went right back to being that scared middle schooler again for a moment. god fucking damn. holy shit you guys is Kirishima fireproof because if he comes waltzing out of the woods next I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. lolo kids getting traumatized left and right this arc is fucking merciless

um eXCUSE ME!?!?!

YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT LET GO OF HER RIGHT NOW OR I AM GONNA LOSE IT!!

THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!

holy shit he could have fucking snapped her neck like that??! I don’t like this at ALL WHAT THE FUCK

OKAY SERIOUSLY

I’M GONNA NEED ANOTHER KID TO STEP IN HERE WITH A LAST MINUTE SAVE LIKE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, OR I AM GOING TO THROW MY COMPUTER OFF A FUCKING CLIFF AND MOVE TO THE DESERT AND BECOME A HERMIT AND NEVER READ MANGA ON THE INTERNET AGAIN

OH THANK GOD

TODAY WE SPELL “REDEMPTION” K-I-R-I... ETC. THERE’S A LOT OF LETTERS BUT YOU GET THE DRIFT!!!

holy fucking shit y’all. I mean, it’s not like it came out of nowhere, like the setup could not have been more obvious, but let me assure you that none of the predictability lessened the actual impact of this moment in the SLIGHTEST. Horikoshi really wrote a flashback scene one hundred and thirty five chapters ago and planted it, watered it once a day, and patiently waited for THREE LONG YEARS until he could finally harvest the badass fruits of his labor in the midst of his most epic arc to date. I’m so fucking hyped I’ll even forgive him for sacrificing Mina’s big moment and having her get rescued, because it’s such a good reversal. he didn’t freeze up this time. he promised himself he’d never freeze again and he didn’t and he saved her and god fucking damn. anyways so now Machia is going to treat him like a fucking action figure though but he’s a solid little dude he can take it hopefully

NO WHAT IS THIS!!! STOP KILLING MY MOOD!!!

she better not be dead!! SHE BETTER NOT FUCKING BE DEAD I WILL RUN MY PC THROUGH A PAPER SHREDDER AND GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH MY FEELS ON A MOUNTAIN IN TIBET

CHINTETSU!!

well we know he’s fireproof. another callback at the least expected of times lmao

so Tetsu’s all “yeah Kirishima’s not really all that fireproof but he totally ran over here anyway to save you. oh wait that probably wasn’t very comforting of me to say.” maybe that’s why it seems like he might not have actually said it out loud, now that I’m reading this over again. good call Tetsu

ARE YOU STANDING UP AND CASUALLY STRETCHING OUT YOUR BACK

I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE HOW MUCH I HATE THIS GUY RIGHT NOW. WE’RE REACHING LEVELS OF HATRED RESERVED FOR NAZIS AND PEOPLE WHO WALK TOO SLOWLY IN FRONT OF ME IN A GROUP SHOULDER TO SHOULDER INSTEAD OF SINGLE FILE SO I CAN PASS IN FRONT OF THEM. YOU’RE A FUCKING TOURIST IN NYC YOU PIECE OF SHIT

lmao he’s just dropping this random hero person and letting him fall to his doom wheeeeee

remind me to leave all of the League of Villains’ texts on read for the foreseeable future. goddamn. I still love you guys but also, fuck you so damn hard

OHO A LIL RED SCALY BOI ISN’T DONE YET!!

real talk, just between you and me, I’ll lower my voice so that Kirishima can’t hear. so uh. we all agree that even if Kiri is fireproof and squishproof, that little can of tranquilizer juice technically shouldn’t have been, right? but we’re all going to hush and pretend like it was anyway for the sake of not spoiling his big moment. even though I am crossing my arms and tapping my chin with my finger while doubtfully glancing to the side

anyway here he goes!

YEAH KIRI GO GETTIM [stage whisper] there it is, in his pocket. should’ve burned. we won’t discuss it

OH FOR FUCK’S

TOGA YOU LITTLE WIENER BUT WHAT’S THIS ABOUT “MY HALF” NOW????

DID HE GRAB MINA’S MID-AIR?? IS HE REALLY REACHING INTO HIS BACK POCKET AND FUCKING UNZIPPING IT RIGHT NOW WHILE HOLDING ON TO NOTHING AND PRESUMABLY FALLING THROUGH THE AIR. DID A LITTLE BIT OF OCHAKO’S QUIRK RUB OFF ON YOU OR WHAT

OH SNAP SON HE REALLY DID THE THING HOLY SHIT???

AND TOKAGE FLEW OVER AND SAVED HIM AND NOW TANKS ARE SHOOTING AT MACHIA, LMAO WHAT IS THIS. MOMO HOW MANY GUNS DID YOU MAKE

Shouji standing there trying to be useful any way he can. are eyeballs really that much more effective if you make them the size of tennis balls and hold them up above your head. legit question, I don’t really know how eyes work

okay after 45 seconds of googling this my impression is that no, they are not. well good on you for giving it the old college try anyway though Shouji

oH MY GODLKDLK?!?!

DID SHE SAY WHAT I THOUGHT SHE SAID, DID SHE SAY MAJESTIC, ARE WE GONNA SEE MASJKESLTKCI DSFLKJL

oh my god he really is the Magic Man dude??? TIME TO DUST OFF MY INVENTORY OF ADVENTURE TIME QUOTES

(ETA: AHH FATGUM AND GANG ORCA ARE THERE TOO YESSSS!)

“that’s enough depending on some interns” oh, okay. now that they’ve done all your work for you. I see, I see

so now Gigantomachia is LITERALLY UNHINGING HIS JAW I can’t fucking believe this dude you guys. everything he does is just like, ARE YOU SERIOUS

please go to sleep already. thanks to you I have my keyboard set to capslock as the default for the duration of this chapter

ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU FUCKING WAITED UNTIL MAGIC FUCKING MAN SHOWED UP TO TEACH US MAGICAL LIFE LESSONS AND NOW YOU’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE TOMURA FIGHT?? WHY DO WE KEEP LETTING THIS MAN GET AWAY WITH THIS

oh my god you guys they really fucking did it

I guess that Howitzer slash fire punch combo really was that potent huh

anyway so now Endeavor is standing there making a big speech instead of reaching into Tomura’s pocket and taking the bullets that he doesn’t know about and shooting him with one asap. dammit Endeavor

aaaaand Tomura is firing back with the wisdom of Shimura Fucking Kotaro of all people

well you sure convinced me. damn I don’t know what I was thinking. heroes suck you guys. how dare they help other people all the time

so now he’s all “PERIOD, EXCLAMATION POINT!!”

take that Endeavor. you heard the man. it’s not destruction without conviction, as god as his witness he will have you know it is destruction WITH conviction. something something the great sage Shimura “I hurt my family for absolutely no reason at all, fuck this ‘helping others’ bullshit” Kotaro. I hope you packed your textbooks because you just got SCHOOLED. I hope the person who ordered you signed up for delivery notifications because you just got SENT. I HOPE YOU LIKE CAPITALISM BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT OWNED. I HOPE YOU CHOSE PAPER AND NOT SCISSORS BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT ROCKED

what an absolutely, unreservedly bizarre place to end the chapter lol. we’re really just done with this week, just like that. Majestic showed up and Gigantomachia opened his chin like a garage door and Tomura is all “you may have won the battle but you suck” while he buys time for Aizawa to suddenly sneeze or something so he can make his terrible comeback and continue Horikoshi’s Traumatize Every Kid in Class 1-A 2020 campaign. what an arc this is my friends. what an arc

[livesincerely]

I just read the accidental kiss scene, btw very good, and immediately wanted a romantic kiss follow up.

I think you’ve made a lot of people very happy by sending this in... ;) 

(Sequel to this)

00000

“Dave!” Jack calls, when he’s able to put the words together. “Davey, I know you can hear me!” He knocks a few more times, then switches to banging on the glass with the heel of his hand. “I will stand out here all damn day, don’ think that I won’t!”

Finally, the curtains part and Davey appears. His whole face is red—his flush creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt—but his mouth is set with a grim sort of determination. Jack sees him take a breath, then the window slowly slides open.

He starts, “Davey, wha—“

“So, I’m a little bit in love with you,” Davey says, and Jack’s whole world tilts. “Or, more than a little bit, if I’m being honest.”

Jack stares. “You’re—“

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Davey quickly interrupts, and his knuckles are white where they’re curled around the window sill, his eyes focused somewhere near Jack’s left elbow. “Really, we don’t. Actually, let’s agree to just never talk about it because I already know that you... I mean, of course you aren’t...”

Davey’s voice wobbles, and he cuts himself off. His eyes dart up to meet Jack’s own, then cut away just as quickly, too fast for Jack to read any of the emotions swirling in them.

“Yeah,” Davey continues, his shoulders sagging with resignation. “Exactly. So I don’t need you say it. And it’d be real kind of you to not make me have to hear it Jackie.”

Jack’s throat works but no sound comes out. His brain feels like it’s been rung out and hung up to dry, just whipping uselessly in the breeze. He opens his mouth and out falls, “...You’re really in love with me?”

“Of course I am,” Davey answers, and he says it so simple and plain—like he isn’t upending Jack’s entire life with each and every syllable. “How could I not be?”

Davey chews at his bottom lip, then says, earnest and apologetic, “I wasn’t going to tell you, I swear I wasn’t, I’m honestly happy just being your friend. And I didn’t mean to, um, kiss you.” Davey scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, glancing up at Jack with nervous, worried eyes. “Sorry about that. I guess I just thought.... well, I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking, really.”

“But we don’t need to talk about it,” Davey says again, hurriedly—like he doesn’t want to give Jack a chance to respond to him, like he’s afraid of what Jack might say. “Really, we don’t. We’ll just pretend like this never happened and nothing like this will ever— because the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. And, well, it will really put a damper on our friendship if you break my heart.”

That last part is phrased like a joke, but Davey doesn’t sound like he’s joking. Jack knows he needs to say something, but he doesn’t have a clue where to start—there’s just too much to be said.

“You should probably get going,” Davey murmurs before Jack can figure it out, ducking his head. “I’m sure Crutchie and Albert are missing you.” And for the second time that morning, he closes the window in Jack’s face, the lock snapping shut with a soft click.

Jack stands there for god knows how long, still trying to process whatever the hell just happened. He eventually clambers down to street level, almost careening into a trash can as he jumps off the fire escape because his knees are too wobbly to hold him up, his mind whirring with a hundred different thoughts.

The next hour passes in a blur. He’s distantly aware of making his way back to the Lodging House, of Crutchie and Albert and Romeo and the rest of the Newsies moving around him as they all get ready for work, but they’re misty shadows in his mind.

All he can think about is Davey. The way Davey’s arm feels thrown casually across Jack’s shoulders as they walk down the street, thighs brushing which each step. How Davey can roll his eyes with his whole body but can’t ever quite hide how the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile, even when he’s absolutely fed up with Jack’s shit.

He thinks of Davey kissing him, how it had been too short and too surprising for Jack to respond in any real way, but how he wishes he’d had a chance to. He thinks of the look on Davey’s face, of the tone of Davey’s voice when he said that they could stay friends and just pretend it never happened.

But he doesn’t want to pretend, Jack realizes as he walks towards the Distribution Center. What he wants is to know what Davey’s smile tastes like, how Davey’s fingers feel laced between his own, if he can see the love in Davey’s eyes, now that he knows to look for it.

He wants it like a fire in his soul. He can’t even imagine trying to pretend otherwise.

Davey’s waiting for him in the square, standing off to the side and fiddling anxiously with one of the buttons on his vest, carrying a paper bag in his other hand. When he notices Jack’s arrival, he takes a cautious step forward to meet him.

Tentatively, Davey says, “We didn’t decide on lunch plans earlier, so I just went ahead and brought sandwiches.”

Jack kisses him.

Davey freezes, lips parting around a startled gasp, and there’s a soft thunk as the sack lunches fall to the ground. Jack pays it no mind, too intent on his task to be bothered, and he cradles Davey’s face gently between his palms, pressing closer and kissing deeper. There’s another moment of stillness, then Davey’s relaxing into the embrace, his hands coming up to rest against Jack’s waist, his mouth moving slowly, tenderly against Jack’s as they kiss and kiss.

“What was that?” Davey says, shocked and breathless when they finally part.

“You said ya didn’t want to talk about it,” Jack reminds him. His heart’s floating and soaring all around his chest. “That was us not talking about it.”

Davey licks his lips, lashes fluttering as he blinks. “That’s really not what I meant.”

“Are ya complaining about it?” Jack asks.

Davey squints at him, his expression torn between joy and exasperation and disbelief. “...No.”

“Alrighty then,” Jack says, grinning. “Now hurry up an’ getcha papes, we’s wastin’ daylight.” He kisses him once more, just because he wants to, just because he can, then reaches up and fixes Davey’s cap so it sits right on his head. “Oh, and Dave?”

“Yeah, Jackie?”

“I’m a little bit in love with you too.”

00000

@johnnyboy879

[kyber-kisses]

Bone Crushing

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, Dean being whipped by muscles- you know how it is.

Summary: Sometimes Dean forgets just how strong his best friend is. . . And it may or may not be one of the small factors playing into his crush on you.

A/N: this is me just channeling how I too become whipped by strong women. Please enjoy. The screenshot I based this fic off is at the bottom btw!

This was bad.

This was a huge no no.

It’s a universal truth that you are not supposed to go and catch feelings for your best friend, it’s that simple. You don’t take a joint from a guy named Don, there are no dogs in the car, and you do not develop a dumb crush on your best friend.

What was so hard about following those rules? Specifically the last one?

the answer was easy. You just had to go and be one of the coolest people Dean had ever met didn’t you? You with your dumb jokes and wacky sense of humor, and your kindness and compassion. . . And your dumb muscles.

He felt like a friggin teenage girl that was stunned by some tall hunk. Your muscles weren’t massive by any means but they fit your body well, especially after years of hunting. You were strong as all get out. He had seen you take down demons twice your size and lift up heavy objects with ease.

Dude was almost jealous of your strength if he was gonna be honest.

The moments that really get him though are when you're doing the damn simplest of tasks, like that one morning in the bunker when he watched you open a particularly tight jar in a tank top and your biceps just. . . And then there was that one time up at Jodys place during the Fourth of July when Claire dared you to try and crush a watermelon with your thighs, and that was just an experience within itself. And then there were your hugs, and how you always gave the best ones, sometimes squeezing the air from his lungs. Add that to all the times Dean had let himself be beat by you in sparring and it all equaled one thing:

The man was whipped. and he would be lying if he hadn't thought Please crush me with your biceps more than once.

But you and your muscles were probably the last thing on Deans mind at the moment. . . Seeing as he had been knocked out and chained up by a couple of werewolves in what looked to be a massive storage unit, the massive metal cuffs around his wrists were chained to a bolt in the ceiling, forcing the hunter to stand.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he woke his body jolted, the metal chains rattling slightly as he did. It was dark, the only source of light seeping underneath the heavy duty corrugated door, the type that clearly needed a remote or something to open with how massive the damn thing was.

He had gone out to get food. That was it. He had left you and Sam back at the motel, nose deep in research, saying he would be back in twenty. It had clearly been more than twenty by now. . .but who knew if either of you had realized how long he had been gone.

Yanking on the chains, he turned his gaze upward towards the bolt, squinting in the dark in an attempt to see better, not that it did much good. How he was gonna get out of here, he didn’t have a clue.

God, if he managed to get out of here intact, you were gonna make fun of him for this for years to come. The great Dean Winchester, bested by a couple of werewolves.

Dean spent the next half hour continually pulling on the damn chains, but it was no use. They were bolted in place, the rattling links being his only companion in the dark space. The wolves had yet to come back, no doubt planning all the brilliant ways they could off him, because if you manage to capture a Winchester is something you’re gonna wanna revel in.

Eventually he gave up, instead counting the minutes so he had something to do.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

He was about to hit the fifteen minute mark on his counting when he heard it. A round of gunshots echoing somewhere in the near distance, accompanied by a series of shouts.

Dean watched as a shadow quickly passed by the door and he let out a yell, doing his best to make sure whoever it was heard him through the steel door. A second passed and then the shadow backtracked.

“Dean?”

“Y/N? Oh thank god.”

“I’ll get you out of there, just a sec-“

“Doors pretty damn heavy, I think you need a remote or something to ope—“ Dean was cut off as the wheels squealed in their tracks as you pulled up the door, fingers curling around the bottom as you did. Once open far enough, you ducked and rolled into the room, the metal door slamming against the floor behind you.

“H-how-“

“What?” Groping the walls for a light switch, you finally flicked one, the room lighting up all at once. You spun around, sending him a smile. “There you are.”

“Mmhmmm-“ Dean hummed, doing his best he to not hint at the sudden squeaky high pitched noise that left his throat.. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Well-“ taking a deep breath you squatted down, pulling off your backpack to rifle through it. “Mr. I’ll leave my phone back at the motel. I put a small tracker in your wallet.”

“Oh creepy. You do that to all your friends?”

Popping back up with your lock picking tools you got to work on the massive ones locking his shackles together. “Only the idiot ones that I’m afraid might get themselves captured.”

“Oh how nice of you.”

“I know right?”

A minute later the shackles loosened and slid off his wrists, the hunter stretching as you stepped back and slid the kit back into your pack, slinging it back over your shoulders and cinching the straps.

“You good to go?”

“Yep-“ Dean started, taking a step forward, only to wince as a sharp pain went up his leg, his arm reaching out to brace himself on the wall as he inhaled. So he twisted his ankle, no big deal. He didn't need to make you worry.

Just act fine, Dean, Just act fine.

You were too busy wrestling the massive door back open to notice, your back holding it up as you looked back over. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, all good here-“

Being as subtle as he could, he ducked under the door, you popping up to him a second later as it slammed shut again. “Alright, well then let’s hit the road.”

This time unfortunately you noticed Deans limp as the two of you began to move down the hallway of storage units, the hunter doing a poor job at masking his pain. You stopped quickly in your tracks as your hand went out to grab his arm.

“Dean! I thought you said you were fine?!”

“I am.” He brushed you off, taking another step forward, wincing as his foot hit the floor. “Where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“Sam’s fine, you big dummy. He took out the wolves-“ rushing forward, you looped Deans arm around your shoulder, supporting his weight, this time the hunter choosing not to protest and just give in. “Now what happened?”

“Probably just twisted my ankle or something when they jumped me. It’s fine.”

And then before he could even register what exactly you were doing, you were quite literally scooping the man up into your arms, carrying him down the remainder of the hallway and out into the brisk night air.

“What are you doing?!”

“Carrying you, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, but why?!”

“Because I can. And because you fucked up your ankle.” You responded, eyes finding Sam leaning against the impala. The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow before Dean sent him a silent middle finger, eyes daring him to bring up what was happening.

“What uh- what happened?” Sam cleared his throat, swinging open the passenger side door so you could slide Dean in.

“Your brother stubbed his toe.”

“Hey, I rolled my ankle!”

“Sure, Jan.” You grinned, sending him a quick wink. The hunter suddenly praying you couldn’t see the pink hue creeping across his face in the dimly lit parking lot.

Sam quickly chose to be the new driver, you sliding into the back as he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home was quiet apart from the soft hum of the radio turned down low. You were in the back stitching up a gash you had gotten earlier, Sam had his eyes on the road, and Dean? Dean was trying not to think about the fact that he had a huge fucking crush on you and the fact that you had quiet literally swept him off his feet.

And it was like that all the way home and even when he sunk into one of the many vacant chairs in the library, you excusing yourself so you could go grab a brace for Deans ankle, (Even though he kept insisting he didn’t need one.)

The second you were out of earshot though Sam was turning to his brother, an amused look on his face. Dean frowned, knowing where he was going with this.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. . . But you having a crush on Y/N is pretty amusing.”

“I don’t not!”

“. . . But you so do.”

“Okay-“ Dean slowly pushed up from his seat, setting down the glass of whiskey you had poured him. “Just because I think about holding her hand and kissing her. . .or whatever, does not mean I have a crush on her.”

Sam’s face slightly pulled up in further amusement, Deans death glare just making the whole thing funnier. “Wow, you are so much dumber than I originally thought, holy shit.”

“Okay, you know what? Your gonna do that thing where you shut up forever, okay? Okay, cool.” Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, the older Winchester headed for the hallway, half limping as he did.

And then he turned the corner. . . And froze.

You were standing in the middle of the hallway, your box of braces tucked under your arm, eyebrows raised.

“H-HEy! Didn’t see you there!” His attempt at acting smooth and calm sailing out the window as he talked, giving you an awkward smile.

“Oh, I know you didn’t.”

“H-how- how much did you hear just now? Just curious.”

You took a several steps closer, lightly shrugging. “Not much. Other than the fact that you have a big ol crush on me.”

“W-whaaaaaattttt? No!” Dean shook his head, bumping into the wall as he backed up. “No! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on you!”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. Damn it.

You dropped the box on the floor, stepping over it slowly as you continued to walk closer. “Are you sure about that? Because your rosy red cheeks are tellin me another story.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Think about something else. Look at something else- No! Not her arms you idiot, that’s just gonna-

Your chest was practically touching Deans now as you stood toe to toe with him, the wall cool against his back as he looked into your eyes.

“You want me to stop?”

“S-stop what?” Dean stuttered, his breath coming out slightly shaky as he did.

Oh my god, why were you so pretty and badass and cool and strong and-

And then you were bending your knees slightly, hooking your arms around Deans thighs and picking him up, successfully pinning him to the damn wall, his arm flying out to brace himself as the sudden action took him by surprise. The hunter letting out a light yell.

“This.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“N-no.”

And then your lips were on Deans and he was suddenly taken back by how gentle you are because he knew how much strength your body held and the feeling of your lips on his was so gentle it was just. . . So surprising.

And so damn nice.

Dean hardly had a moment to react before you pressed your tongue to the seam of his lips and, at his grant of access, delved inside his mouth.

Oh this was so much better than could have thought. So so much better. And he didn’t even give a single damn that you were the one pinning him to the damn wall. If anything he liked it. . . A lot.

As the two of you deepened the kiss the only thing that went running through Deans mind was that he was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours he’d spent with you- watching you talk, laugh and frown - that he would know all there was to know about your lips. But he hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against his own.

“Seriously guys?! I mean, not that I’m not thrilled or anything but in the hallway?! C’mon!” Sam’s voice breaking you apart slightly as you looked over your shoulder, Dean flipping him off once again as Sam grimaced and walked down a separate hallway.The younger Winchester shaking his head as he went.

When you looked back around, eyes finding Deans yet again, arms still holding him up he felt the awkwardness return.

“Y-your uh- you’re really strong.”

“Oh why thank you.” You smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “And if you couldn’t tell by now, I got a big ol crush on you too.”

(Interested in which screenshot this fic is based off of?)

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